“Your Grace, this path seems to lead to Mahithilde Arena.”
Arthur Bangor, who had been glancing around cautiously, pointed toward one of the branching tunnels.
As he said, on the dirt wall ahead, the word Mahithilde had been written in stark white chalk.
Duke Lancaster stood at the crossroads, deep in thought.
If he wanted to twist this disaster into something favorable, he had to make a choice. Which path would he take?
I can’t abandon the New Human Project.
Absolutely not.
Damn Old man please die!